


head over feet

by brandnewfashion



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Jack Knew First, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7511821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandnewfashion/pseuds/brandnewfashion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you know that your left eye twitches when you lie?” Shitty says matter-of-factly. </p><p>“It does not,” Jack says with a scowl. </p><p>“You just did it again.” Shitty opens his arms and beckons Jack forward. “Now, tell Mr. Crappy what’s bothering you, Jacky boy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	head over feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/gifts).



> I can always count on Mizzy's fics to cheer me up whenever I'm in a foul mood, so I wanted to write something to say 'thanks.' I hope y'all like it! 
> 
> The title comes from the song "[Head Over Feet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBgP44KEf3Q)" by Alanis Morisette.
> 
> Thank you to @[trickyarchangel](http://trickyarchangel.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing, as always.<3

Jack doesn’t know when it happens—when he stops thinking of Bittle as a liability and starts thinking of him as a teammate.  An equal.  A friend.

It could’ve been when Bittle had gotten that concussion, but looking back, Jack realizes it had probably happened before that: talks outside of Faber, walking home together after Winter Screw, heated debates between Southern and Canadian pronunciations of words in the Haus kitchen, early morning checking clinics.

Jack thinks it was probably just a gradual thing.  A very gradual thing.  Jack knows full well that he was a large part of the reason why they hadn’t gotten on very well in the beginning—he knows he projects his frustrations out on others sometimes, but he’s been _working_ on that.  Then their coaches had put them on the same line.

_You’re a better player when you’re with Bittle._

Jack had bristled when the coaches had first told him that, but now there’s no denying that it’s true that Bittle makes him better.

On and off the ice.

Jack had never been the type to make friends easily—even Shitty took a long time to get used to—but there’s something about Bittle that just gets under his skin.  At first, Jack had thought it was just annoyance, but over the course of the year, he had realized it was just annoyance with _himself_ —his stubbornness and inability to let people in.  An inability to let _Bittle_ in.

Bittle, who is sunshine personified.  Bittle, who charms and makes friends with everyone that he meets.  Bittle, who puts the rest of the team before himself.

Bittle, who has always made everything that Jack works so hard to do seem so damn _easy_.

But then Bittle gets checked and gets a concussion that forces him to sit out for the rest of the season, and it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal because Bittle had only been on Jack’s line for a month, but Bittle’s absence on the ice feels like a missing limb.

They don’t make it to the playoffs, but it’s fine, because there’s always next year, and then the team unanimously re-elects Jack as Captain _again_ and he's reminded of how much he hates giving speeches. 

“I can’t think of anyone else who I’d want to be captain,” Bittle says earnestly as they’re standing in the hallway between their bedrooms. 

“Thanks, Bittle.”  It’s the best that Jack can come up with, but he’s suddenly extremely glad that Bittle is going to be living across the hall from him because now he has an entire school year to properly convey his thanks.

They talk for a few more minutes and, when Jack finally bids goodbye and (jokingly) tells Bittle to “eat more protein,” he feels like a huge weight is lifted off of his shoulders.  

He feels content.

 

~ ~ ~

 

_how are you_

Jack thinks he sounds casual enough—then again, he doesn’t know why he’s so worried about sounding casual to begin with.  He’s just checking up on Bittle as he would if it were Shitty, Rans, Holster or any other teammate.

At least, that’s what Jack keeps telling himself.

Bittle had made it clear that there were no hard feelings, but Jack couldn’t help but feel responsible.  Every time he had so much as glanced at Bittle during the rest of the Spring semester, the guilt that Jack had tried so hard to bury deep down and forget would only bubble back up to the surface.

He had promised that he would have Bittle’s back, and then Bittle had ended up with a _concussion_ instead.

Jack’s seen former teammates get injured before—some of them because of his own plays—but it’s different with Bittle.

 _Everything_ seems to be different when it comes to Bittle.  

He looks at the text one last time before pressing ‘send.’

Bittle replies just a few moments later, and the corner of Jack’s mouth ticks up into a small smile.  It figures Bittle’s already on his phone.

_I’m great! How’re you? How’s your summer going?_

Jack’s never been one for texting.  The last one he had sent had actually been to Bittle a few days ago, a lame ‘don’t forget to rest up’ which got a very puzzled response. 

Conversation is much easier this time and Jack finds himself pulling out his phone every couple minutes to reply to Bittle’s messages. 

Bittle’s the one who suggests they migrate to Skype after almost two hours of texting, and before Jack knows it, he’s recanting his experience at the Blackhawk’s prospect camp to an enraptured Bittle.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“You listen to _what_?”

Even on a laptop screen, Bittle’s scandalized face is clear as day. “Um…”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann!” Bittle exclaims. “How could—Why would—”

Jack leans back against his headboard. “You’re from the _South_.  Isn’t it normal there?”

“But you’re _Canadian_.  How did that even happen?”

“I thought you’d be glad that I listen to anything from this _decade_ —”

“I’d rather you listen to your oldies station than _country music_ , Jack!” Bitty says. “And don’t get on my case about chirpin’ you on your birthday.  It’s past midnight so it isn’t the third anymore.”

Jack glances at the time at the bottom corner of the screen and sees that it’s nearly one in the morning.  “Huh.  I guess it isn’t.”

“Good Lord, I can’t believe we’ve been talking for almost three hours!” Bittle remarks. “It’s way past your usual bedtime.  Aren’t you tired?”

Jack shakes his head.  It isn’t the first time he’s missed his bedtime because he was Skyping with Bittle—it isn’t even the fourth or the fifth.  “I’m fine, but you should get some rest.  Don’t you have to run errands with your mom?”

“Yeah, I probably should,” Bittle says quietly. “Maybe we can Skype tomorrow night?”

“It’s already tomorrow,” Jack quips.  He laughs at the glare that Bittle sends his way. “I’ll text you when I’m free.”

“Alrighty.  Good night, Jack.”  He smiles before adding: “Happy birthday.”

Jack smiles back. “Thanks, Bittle.  Good night.”

As soon as Bittle hangs up, Jack puts his head in his hands and sighs.

He is so _fucked_.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“I can’t believe you bribed your way into my senior history seminar,” Jack says as he and Bittle walk out of class.  The class is the first time he and Bittle have ever spent time together that didn’t involve hockey or the team, and Jack finds that he doesn’t mind the other man’s company one bit. 

Bittle feigns offense—or maybe he _is_ offended—at Jack’s statement. “‘Bribe’ is such an ugly word,” he says before whipping out his phone.

“What would you call it, then?”

Bittle stops tapping away at his phone and ponders for a moment before replying: “Resourcefulness.”

Jack rolls his eyes.  “Whatever you s—Are you tweeting what I’m saying?”

“Nope,” Bittle says even as he continues typing.

Jack rolls his eyes.

Bittle pockets his phone a few moments later. “Speaking of our food seminar…”

“What?”

“Well, I just remembered what Shitty asked you last night,” Bittle says, “And I was wondering… Why _are_ you?”

Jack thinks back to the night in question and replays the conversation in his head.

 _“Dude,_ why _are you still single?” Shitty asks._

_“I um… hockey is um… I don’t have—Um…”_

_“I mean, I get it,” Shitty says dramatically. “Hockey’s your life and I bet you’d probably marry the sport if you could, but I can’t let you spend your_ last _year at Samwell watching history documentaries while holed up in your room—”_

Jack feels his face heat, and he ducks his head so Bittle doesn’t see.  He’s fine with everyone else thinking he’s hockeysexual—call him a coward if you want, but it’s easier than trying to talk about his _feelings_. 

His romantic feelings.

His romantic feelings about a certain Southern, blond hockey-playing baker.

“Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” Jack asks instead.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Bittle shrug. “There was a girl in our class that kept staring at you.”

“People stare at me all the time,” Jack points out.  It isn’t a part of his life that he’s fond of, but given who he is—and who his _parents_ are—he’s used to it.

“I’m just saying, she’s cute and she’d probably say ‘yes,’ if you asked her out,” Bittle says.

Jack looks at him curiously.  “I thought you hated matchmaking.”  

“I’m not—I was just trying to… I dunno.  I guess I’m just trying to steer you in the right direction.”

Jack swallows.  He knows it’s his last year, and the last thing he needs is another reminder of the fact.  “Why?” he asks.   

“I want you to be happy,” Bittle replies.

“What makes you think I’m not happy with the way things are?”

“I didn’t—!” Bittle catches himself. “Lord, this is all coming out wrong…”

Jack chuckles. “No, it’s fine.  I get it.  Well, the truth is, I may already be interested in someone.”

“That’s great, Jack!  I’m sure she’s quite a catch.” 

“Uh… yeah,” Jack says. “They are.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Jack is barely settled across the table from Bittle when his phone starts ringing.  « Hello, Papa. »

« _How are you, Jack?_ »

« Fine, but I’m actually at lunch right now. » Jack

« _By yourself?_ »

Jack glances over at Bittle, who is picking at the dining hall’s pathetic excuse of a salad. «I’m with Bittle. »

« _You always seem to be with him when I call.  You two have become pretty good friends, huh?_ »

Bittle looks up at the mention of his name, and Jack immediately looks away, mentally cursing himself when he feels his face heat. « I guess? »

« _You talk about him a lot._ »

« We live in the same house and take a class together. He’s just always around. »

« _Do you know if Bittle’s parents are going to be at Samwell for Parents’ Weekend?_ »

« I have no idea. »

« _I was thinking of inviting them out for dinner with us one night.  Wouldn’t that be a great idea?_ »

Jack promptly chokes on the water he had been sipping, and he waves off Bittle’s attempts to help him. « Wh-what?!  I don’t—! »

« _Well, you should get back to lunch!  Wouldn’t want Bittle to think you’re giving him the cold shoulder._ »

« Pa _pa!_ »

« _Bye, son!_ »

Jack pockets his phone and looked up to see Bittle staring at him, his brow furrowed. “What?”

“What did you say about me?” Bittle asks.

“Nothing,” Jack says, picking up his fork and stabbing his pasta with a bit more force than necessary.

“I may not understand French, Jack Zimmermann, but I can recognize my own name,” Bittle retorts before taking a bite out of his sandwich. “What could your dad possibly have said to make you react like that?”

“Nothing bad, I promise,” Jack assures.   “Let’s just finish up lunch so we can get started on our homework, eh?”

Bittle pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“Old news,” Jack responds automatically, making Bittle roll his eyes.

They resume eating their meals in companionable silence.  It’s when Bittle is finishing up the rest of his chocolate milk that Jack says: “My dad wants our families to go out to dinner during Family Weekend.”

“ _Jack Zimmermann_!”

 

~ ~ ~

 

_“FUCK IT, BITTY, YOU’RE GETTING LAID TONIGHT.”_

It’s only when Jack feels the splinters start to dig into his skin that he realizes the pencil in his hand had snapped in half.  He’s used to doing homework while the others get drunk downstairs, but past topics of conversation had never involved—

_“WHAT?  BITS IS GETTING LAID?!”_

_“I know like…_ everyone _in crew.  You like rowers, right?”_

 _“There’s a 6-foot-7 guy from Australia who’s totally into short dudes.”_   

 _“No!”_ Jack hears Bittle exclaim, and Jack can picture how flustered he must look now—red in the face and frantically trying to pry the beers out of their teammates’ hands. _“It’s only 7 o’clock.  How’re y’all this shitfaced already?!”_

 _“Swimmers?  No—_ divers!” Holster says excitedly. “ _Or maybe socc—Oh.  Oh, my GOD.  THE FOOTBALL TEAM, BITS. THE FOOT—”_

Jack hears some more cans opening before Ransom says: _“There’s this linebacker who’s VP of Samwell Athletes & Allies—”_

 _“RANSOM, I’M NOT HOOKING UP WITH_ ANYONE _TONIGHT_!” Bittle yells.  

Jack startles when there’s a knock on his door a minute later.

“Jack?” Bittle says, cautiously poking his head in. “Mind if I hide out here for a bit?”

“Of course,” he replies, putting his books aside.  His paper isn’t due for another two weeks anyway. “What was all that commotion about?”

Bittle sits on the edge of Jack’s bed and scowls. “Holster and Ransom are hellbent on finding me guys.”

“I thought you liked dating and meeting people?” Jack asks.  He’s watched Bittle get ready for plenty of dates in the few months they’ve lived together—even helped him pick outfits for some.  Sure, very few of them make it to a second date, but Bittle had always said he’d had a good time whenever he got home.   

“I _do_ , but I don’t like hooking up with random strangers,” Bittle clarifies. “Obviously, I don’t care what _they_ do with their free time, but it just isn’t my thing.”

Well, Jack can certainly relate to that.  He grabs his laptop off his desk and sits next to Bittle on his bed. “Wanna watch a movie?  I’ll let you pick.”

Bittle’s eyes immediately light up, and Jack lets him snatch the laptop out of his hands to peruse their Netflix queue.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“I don’t understand why you and Rans like those so much,” Jack says as they walk out of Annie’s and make their way to class.

“I don’t understand how you can drink plain, black coffee,” Bittle counters.

“It tastes good.”

“No, Jack.  Black coffee does _not_ taste good.  The only people who say that are the poor unfortunate souls who hate puppies and have some sort of personal vendetta against fun,” Bittle says. 

“I like puppies.”

Bittle ignores him and presses on: “Besides, you’ve never even _tried_ the pumpkin flavor before, so you have no right to judge.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Why would I ever _want_ to?”

“Because it’s amazing and delicious.”  Bittle stops in front of him and lifts his cup up to Jack’s mouth.  “Here.”

Jack eyes the cup suspiciously. “No.”

“Just try it, Jack.”

“No, Bittle.”

“Jaaaaack,” Bittle whines.  He’s pouting and Jack’s kind of pissed off with himself for falling for it.  

“Fine,” Jack huffs, before grudgingly taking a sip of the drink.  It’s sweet—as he expected—but it isn’t unpleasant.  In fact, the spices are quite… _good_.  It’s rich, but not overpowering and— “Well, fuck.”

The ensuing grin on Bittle’s face is annoyingly smug, so Jack steals another sip out of spite.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Checking practice becomes a thing again, but not because the coaches _ask_ him to.

Jack had already been planning on scheduling a few sessions with Bittle before the season gets under way, but after overhearing Bittle’s conversations with Hall and Murray—it was an accident, honest—Jack had realized that he had to do something and he had to do it _fast_.

Jack doesn’t know when checking practice becomes less about helping Bitty and more about… well… slightly more _selfish_ reasons.  

Bittle’s become an integral part of the team.  Frankly, Jack can’t remember what it was like before Bittle came along. 

 _Quieter_ , he thinks. _Lonelier_.

Bittle has a way of befriending everyone he meets.  With his infectious laugh and ability to make pies appear in record time, Bittle had been able to fill a void in the team that the rest of them hadn’t even known was there.

Maybe that’s why Jack had been so bothered by him in the beginning.  Bittle was everything that he wasn’t: outgoing, personable, _likeable_ —all traits that had initially irritated Jack, but now can’t imagine living without.

The difference at the Haus was evident from the moment Bittle had officially moved into the Haus.  It was warmer, brighter, welcoming—just like him.

Jack doesn’t know when they made the transition from teammates to friends, but it happened.  Jack wakes up to Bittle’s singing in the shower, and finds himself buying coffee a lot more than he used to.  Jack comes home from class to find Bittle washing dishes while a freshly baked pie cools on the window sill.  When preseason starts and Jack goes out to the reading room to wallow in self-pity, Bittle’s there to pull him out of his own head.

Bittle is just always _there_ , and now the thought of not having this a year from now is already making Jack miss him.

 “Thanks, Jack,” Bittle says.  He’s out of breath, his face is flushed from the cold, and he looks up at Jack with such _gratitude_ —his eyes wide and hopeful—that it makes Jack’s heart do somersaults in his chest.

“What for?” Jack asks.  

“This.  Helping me out,” Bitty replies. “I know you have a lot on your plate, but I really appreciate you helping me with this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “I’m glad to do it.”

“You _like_ waking up at 4am?” Bitty teases. “You really would do anything for your team.  Or is it just the pancakes I make for you afterwards?”

“Okay, first off, _no one_ likes waking up at four.  It’s just something we have to do,” Jack says. “Second, I’m not doing this for the team—okay, yeah, I’m partly doing this for the team because you’re an invaluable member of it—but above all else this is for you.”  His face colors at the slip. “Um, to help you… with the whole… checking thing.  The pancakes… I don’t mind the pancakes,” he adds quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Bittle says suddenly. “I know my checking phobia is a problem, and I don’t mean to hold everyone back because of it but—”

“You’re a great player, Bittle,” Jack interjects. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t, and I’m sorry if I ever made you think differently.”

“Jack…”

“Yeah, you have an issue with checking, but I’m here to help you with that.  We need you on the team.  _I_ need you on the team.  I—” Jack shuts his mouth, afraid that he’s already said too much.

Bittle furrows his brow, and for a moment Jack’s afraid he’s _fucked up_ somehow, but then the other man’s face relaxes and his mouth turns upwards into a smile. “Let’s go again,” Bittle says, putting his helmet back on.

“You sure?” Jack asks even though he’s already skating back to his starting point.  The look on Bittle’s face makes Jack _proud_.

“Bring it on, Jack Zimmermann.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Jack stares at the contents of the box on his bed. 

He stares some more.

…and some more.

There’s a tin of chocolate chip cookies, another tin of homemade peanut brittle and pralines, a University of Georgia t-shirt, and a [knit hat](http://66.media.tumblr.com/05a0cbf596070e428ae4985d40fce1ac/tumblr_nh4na9riNj1szaospo4_1280.jpg) with a note that reads: ‘ _For those early morning runs that Dicky says you like so much_.’

Jack is too preoccupied with trying to process the fact that he just got a care package from someone he’d only met _once_ to even dwell on who the hell this ‘Dicky’ even is.

“Brah, you look like you’re trying to burn a hole through that box.”

Jack snaps out of his thoughts and looks over to find Shitty leaning against the bathroom doorjamb, and not completely nude for once.

“Is that from your parents?” he asks.

“It’s from Bittle’s parents,” Jack clarifies.

“Mama Bittle sent you a care package?” Shitty says, clearly as surprised as Jack is.  “Must be good.”

“Shits…”

“So is this a normal occurrence?  Getting care packages from mothers of adorable Southern bakers?”

“I’m pretty sure you’d know if it was.”

“Right.”  Shitty flops down on Jack’s bed and makes himself comfortable. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“No?”

“Did you know that your left eye twitches when you lie?” Shitty says matter-of-factly.  

“It does not,” Jack says with a scowl.  

“You just did it again.” Shitty opens his arms and beckons Jack forward. “Now, tell Mr. Crappy what’s bothering you, Jacky boy.”

Jack acquiesces and lets Shitty hold him and ruffle his hair. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits.

“You mean your current ordeal of graduating in less than six months, having to decide which professional hockey team you’re going to sign with, and your feelings about a certain Eric Richard Bittle and not being able to go out for coffee and froyo with him all the time after you graduate, right?”

Jack eyes him warily. “How’d you know about that?”

“I didn’t until just now, but I did have my suspicions.”

“Oh.  Well, what do you think I should do?”   

“Maybe you should ask _him_.”

“Ask him for what?”

“Uh, help?” Shitty says with a shrug of his shoulders. “He’s important to you.  Maybe it’s about time to have a long, heart-felt discussion about your feelings.  I’m sure the other shit you have to figure out will fall into place after.”  

Jack looks at him incredulously. “How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“By talking?”

“I don’t want it to affect the team,” Jack says.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t want that either,” Shitty counters. “But you’re not gonna know until you _say something_.  You don’t have to take him out to a fancy dinner or anything.  Just go out for coffee and I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to tell Bits that you’re _head over heels in love with him_!” 

Jack and Shitty freeze when there’s a resounding crash outside the bedroom door.  With Ransom and Holster out getting drinks, there’s only one other person that could possibly be home.

Shitty mutters a curse under his breath as Jack scrambles off the bed and opens the door.  He finds Bittle frozen in the middle of the hallway, broken glass and remnants of pie at his feet.

“Oh, uh… H-hi, Jack,” Bittle stammers, stepping around the mess on the floor.  “I thought—I thought you and Shitty might want a snack, but it looks like I might be clumsier than I thought, huh?”

Jack opens his mouth to say something—to say _anything_ —but he can’t get the words to come out.  He doesn’t know how long he and Bittle stand there in silence, but Shitty eventually makes his way over.

“Why don’t I uh… clean this mess up?” Shitty offers lamely.  He ushers Bitty into Jack’s room. “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about now.”  He silently mouths an apology to Jack before making himself scarce.

“How much did you hear?” Jack asks, not quite looking Bittle in the eye.

“Enough,” Bittle says quietly.

“So you know that I—”

“You _like_ me?!”

Jack finds himself frowning at the word ‘like.’  It doesn’t do nearly enough justice to how he feels, but even he knows it’s way too early for anything more.  “Yeah,” he says instead. “I do.  A lot.”

“B-but I—” Bitty sputters. “I thought you were _straight_!”

“I never said I was,” Jack says with a shrug. “You all just assumed.”

“You’re not straight.”

“No.” 

“And you… you like me.”

“Yes.”

“Like, in a romantic kind of way?”

“I like you in a romantic kind of way,” Jack repeats.

“Oh.”  Bittle bites his lip. “Are you sure?”  

Jack furrows his brow. “Uh, yeah…?” he says. “I’ve known for a while.”

“A while?”

“Since May.”

Bittle’s eyes widen. “Jack…”

“This isn’t… I hope this doesn’t make things uncomfortable for you,” Jack says. “If you’re not interested, I get it.  It’s not like I’d ever hold it against you or anything.”

“I’m just surprised,” Bittle says. “I never would have thought—I just—Gosh.”

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.  I wish I could—”

“Oh, no!  Don’t say that, Jack!” Bittle protests. “You shouldn’t have to _hide how you feel_.  That wouldn’t be fair at all.  I just… I need some time to think things over, if that’s okay?”

Jack nods. “Of course.  I understand.”

Bittle takes a few steps towards the door before backtracking and nearly toppling Jack over with the force of his hug. 

“Good night, Jack,” he says, briefly tightening his arms around Jack’s waist before pulling away.  

“Good night, Bittle,” Jack says.  He waits until Bittle leaves the room and closes the door behind him before he finally lets out a breath. 

He’s said it.  Granted, the circumstances could’ve been a little less… awkward, but it’s out there.

Shitty’s right.  Jack knows that regardless of how Bittle responds, things will be fine between them. 

They’re friends, and they aren’t going to _stop_ being friends just because of something like this.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The next couple of weeks are relatively uneventful. 

Checking practice and/or team practice.  Breakfast.  Class.  Coffee and/or lunch with Bittle.  More class.  Founders with Bittle.  Dinner.  Hanging out with Bittle.

It’s all very normal, except for the fact that it isn’t. 

Conversation is a little stunted at times, and Jack tries to keep a bit more distance between him and Bittle when they sit together.  

There are also games.  Quite a few of them.  They win more than they lose, but instead of celebrating, Jack finds himself more preoccupied with making sure he doesn’t hug Bittle for too long during a celly.

Fortunately, Bittle doesn’t seem to be as phased by the situation as Jack.  Sometimes Jack catches Bittle watching him with an almost wistful look on his face.

Jack tries not to read too hard into that.

“Hey, isn’t that the teammate you were just telling me about?”

Jack follows George’s gaze and sees Bittle off in the distance, staring intently at his phone. “Bittle?  Oh, uh… yeah.”

They jog in silence for a few moments before George asks: “Wanna run into him and pretend it was an accident?”

Jack knows it’s an immature excuse to talk to Bittle, but he can’t help but say ‘yes’ anyway.

Jack maintains his cool and even gets in a couple of good chirps in while Bittle and George make small-talk.  It’s nice to see that even someone as influential and professional as George can’t resist Bittle’s charm.

“We should get going and let Bittle here _text_ about his walk to class,” Jack suggests.  He picks Bittle’s hat up off of the ground and puts it on the younger man’s head.  “Keep your head up, eh?  On and off the ice.”

“Nice meeting you!” George calls out before following Jack down the road. “He’s adorable,” she adds as soon as Bittle is out of earshot.

“Sure, I guess,” Jack says.  His attempt at nonchalance is unconvincing to his own ears, so he can only imagine what it sounds like to someone else.   

George appraises him (as best as she can while jogging, that is). “Everyone on the Falconers team has been working hard to ensure that we have a welcoming work environment,” she says.

Right away, Jack knows what she’s trying to say, and while he’s grateful that he didn’t have to be the one to bring it up, it’s more apparent than ever that he’s going to have to keep working on his professional façade. “Welcoming, eh?”

“Doing a sport for a living is tough— _this_ sport is tough—but we take pride in doing what we do,” she clarifies. “Because we love it.  Age doesn’t matter, education, where we’re from, who we’re married to—none of that matters.  We have each other’s backs no matter what.”

“That’s—That’s good to know,” Jack says sincerely.  

George flashes him a smile before, and they fall into easy conversation about the franchise, and living in Providence, and how “easy” it’ll be to visit his friends at Samwell.   

 

~ ~ ~

 

Jack is watching some reality TV show about wedding dresses with the guys when Bittle gets home.

Well, Jack’s not really watching: he’s mostly just listening to Shitty, Ransom and Holster’s running commentary ( _“Jesus Christ, Megan, why would you pay $15k for that monstrosity?!” “Who cares what your sister thinks?!  It’s_ your _wedding, Charlotte!”)_

“Hey, y’all,” Bittle greets, setting his backpack down and shucking off his coat.

“Bits!” Holster greets enthusiastically. “It’s BrideDay Friday!”

“Watch with us!” Ransom insists. “Here, you can sit between me and Jack.”

Bittle waves him off. “I uh, I’ll make us something to eat first and then I’ll join ya.”

“Do you need any help?” Holster asks.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Bittle insists. “Y’all’re settled in already, I don’t wanna make you get up—”

“Nonsense!  I’m sure Jack would love to help!” Shitty exclaims.

Before Jack knows it, Shitty and Ransom are pulling him off the couch and shoving him in Bittle’s direction.

“Um, sure,” Bittle says, even though he sounds anything _but_ sure. 

“I guess this’ll be good practice for class, eh?” Jack says as he follows Bittle into the kitchen.

“I guess it will,” Bittle muses as he rummages through the cabinets for ingredients. “So… how’d your meeting with George go?”

“Great,” Jack answers. “It was… good.  Fine.”

Bittle nods. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“Do you think you’re going to sign with them?” Bittle asks.

“Maybe.  I don’t know yet.”  Jack fiddles with the set of measuring spoons on the counter. “There’s still a lot to think about, but I’d really like to get everyone else’s opinions too.”

Bittle looks at him questioningly. “Everyone else?”

“My parents,” Jack clarifies. “Shitty, Ransom, Holster, Lardo… uh, you.”

“Jack, this is _your_ career and _your_ life, why would you need _my_ opinion?”

“Because you’re my friend,” Jack says. “You’re a huge part of my life, and… I’d really like to know what you’re thinking about all of this.”

“Oh.”  Bittle blushes. “Well, ah… I think the Falconers are a great team.”

“Is that all?”

“From what Ransom tells me, they have a great fanbase… and Providence is close.  To Samwell, I mean.”

Jack sighs. “Bittle—”

“Jack—”

They stare at each other comically before they both burst into laughter.

“Good Lord!” Bittle says exasperatedly. “We are terrible at this, aren’t we?”

“A bit,” Jack agrees. “So…”

“So…” Bittle parrots back.

“Why don’t you go first?” Jack offers.

For a moment, Bittle looks like he’s about to protest, but he visibly steels himself instead and starts speaking: “Up until recently, I didn’t even know that dating you was a _possibility_.  A year ago, I thought you hated me, and then a couple weeks ago, I thought you were straight.  And then you told me… those things… and I just didn’t know what to think.  My mind was all over the place.”

Jack frowns. “I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

“Oh!  No, no!  You didn’t—What I’m trying to say is that—” Bitty lets out a sound of frustration. “I was at the library all afternoon, but I couldn’t study.”

Jack can’t help but ask: “Were you tweeting?”

“This is not the time for chirping, Jack Zimmermann!” Bitty chides, but there’s a smile on his face. “Anyway, I couldn’t study because I was busy looking up travel times from Samwell to Providence for every mode of transportation that I could think of.”

“It’s a forty-minute drive,” Jack supplies automatically.

“It’s a little over an hour by train,” Bitty says. “But that doesn’t include travel to and from the station, not to mention lines and—”

“Train?” 

Bittle puts his hands on his hips. “Well, I don’t have a _car_ , do I?”

“You’d visit me?” Jack says, bewildered.  

“Of course!  I… If you want me to.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t want you to?”

Bittle looks down at his shoes. “I… I thought maybe you had changed your mind…”

“Hey,” Jack says, taking Bittle’s hand in his.  He waits until Bittle looks back up before speaking again: “You’re… Bitty, you’re amazing.  You’re one of the greatest people I know.  I’m not changing my mind.”

“Oh.  Good.”

“You sound like me now,” Jack chirps. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Well, that and ‘I like you’ too.  A lot,” Bittle adds.

Jack beams at him. “I’m glad.” 

“So now what?” Bittle asks, and Jack’s expression turns more solemn.

“I won’t lie… It won’t be easy,” Jack admits.  

Bittle sighs. “I figured, but it’ll be worth it, right?  We’ll make it work.”

“We’ll make it work,” Jack agrees. “I know I’m leaving soon, but Providence isn’t that far.  I can drive up here and visit when I’m off, or you can take a train down if I’m too busy with practice?  And I know you’re going to be busy with school and I’ll have my work, and there will be times when we’re both on the road, but there’s phone calls and texting and Skype and—”

“Jack!” Bitty says with a laugh. “Good lord.  You need to calm down.”

“Sorry,” Jack says, clearly embarrassed.  

“Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.  You’re just getting a little ahead of me there.”

“Oh.” Maybe Jack had been reading into things too much—maybe they weren’t headed in that direction—

Bitty shakes his head.  “I know what you’re thinking.  All I mean is that we’ve still got a few months together here at Samwell.  We have plenty of time to plan for the future.”

Jack’s lips quirk into a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bittle says, grinning from ear to ear. “So are you just going to stand there, or are you finally going to kiss me, Mr. Zimmermann?”

“Was that a chirp?”

“Maybe,” Bittle teases. “What are you going to do about it?”

Jack grabs him by the waist and bends down for a kiss.  When he feels Bitty’s mouth curve into a smile under his own, Jack can’t help but smile back.   

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @[brandnewfashion](http://brandnewfashion.tumblr.com/)!


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